


Raw

by A_Quiet_Place



Series: Harbringer [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, Monster Billy, Owens is a cool guy, Recovery from season 3, slow healing process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Quiet_Place/pseuds/A_Quiet_Place
Summary: Billy wakes up in a facility after a long time of being... somewhere else.He's being treated for his injuries, rehabilitated, but he's different, he knows he is, his body is not like it was before.
Series: Harbringer [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820008
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> The second part of the series which just keeps growing and makes no sense in chapter form. The Rating will change in the next part so please keep an eye on that and the tags.  
> Not beta'd - if you spot mistakes let me know!
> 
> Not my characters, I'm just putting them through suffering no one asked for.

**Billy  
**?????

?????

It's hard to remember what it's like to not be in pain.  
The pain makes him angry. He knows anger. He remembers anger.

He remembers darkness too – the feeling of drowning in it with no way out, the cold void pulling him under when he gets too close to the surface.

He's in the darkness now, but it's not the same as before. It's a space of endless black and a floor of obsidian liquid. There's light too, under his skin, emanating outwards.

He is there for a long time, waiting.

He can't remember what he is waiting for.

Sometimes he can hear things in the dark around him. A laugh or a conversation. Sometimes there's a woman who is wreathed in sunlight, slipping past him like smoke.

 _S_ _he was really Pretty. And you were Happy.  
_

There's always a great sadness in him when he sees her. But the pain comes and washes that away.

Then he's angry again.

He has no concept of time, only that eventually things change. The conversations grow forms. Dim ones that surround him in the dark, twirling motes of mist and smoke.

It takes- he doesn't know. It must be a while – but slowly they become recognizable as people. They walk around in white coats and masks – talking, and moving around him as if he isn't there.

He can't touch them. He tries to. Tries to punch and rip and tear. They just collapse in wisps under his hands and reform beyond his touch as if he has done thing at all.

He screams at them, begs and cries, but none of it makes a difference.

All this changes too.

After what could be aeons or mere moments, he becomes aware of his own body as a solid thing. He feels cloth under his fingers, the taste of plastic and metal on his tongue. He's laying in a-... a something. It's metal, like a box – a large one with tubes and wires that Billy is dimly aware are sticking out of him and disappearing into the ether.

He can't move around in the darkness any more, he's just stuck in this box, in pain. It radiates from him with every beat of his heart reaching the tips of his fingers and toes. He wants to cry.

_It's not my fault, Max. He made me do it. I didn't want to!_

He recoils at the voices around him. He knows them, but doesn't want to know them. He wants to escape.

_What do you want? I don't understand!_

_Try not to move._

He thrashes, struggles against the weight holding him down. Tears roll from his eyes and he straining, screaming with everything he has.

A person appears over him, more solid than ever before. A man with a mask like a surgeon, he has cold brown eyes and he's holding a syringe.

Billy can't move. Can't escape it. It goes into his neck.

The pain is worse than ever before. He screams and screams.

The darkness around him flickers on and off like a strobe light – faster and faster until it's not darkness at all any more.

It's a room.

He's laying there in his metal box, taking in the florescent lights and the cold sterile surroundings. There are people in white coats around him they come and go from the room chattering away excitedly. They loom over him and say things like it's not complete gibberish to his ears.

They stab him with more needles, examine him and poke and prod at his face and eyes. He hates them all with a white hot rage, but he can't move to show them. All he can do is lay there, agony ripping through him with every rise and fall of his chest as a machine at his side forces him to breathe.

This is what he has to look forward to; the steady beep and clicks of machines and the sounds the people make at him when they are not poking and prodding and hurting him.

He has all the time in the world to think, to dream, to hurt.

Small things in the room sometimes catch his eye and spark up something within his mind.

He slowly begins to remember.

The memories come on like a slow drip some days and a flash flood on others– bits and pieces of disjointed information, giving him migraines so bad he thinks his skull is going to split open. It's like they are trying to cram themselves into his head all at the same time. They take a long time to sort through, but he has plenty of that to spare.

He knows his name was Billy.

He liked the sun and the waves. He liked cigarettes and the smell of coconut. The feel of sex and the rush of driving his car. He liked the sound of music and the taste of beer.

There are faces he remembers – crowding in on him in flashes. None of them have names yet, he just assigns them a feeling instead. A lot of those feelings are unpleasant.

When he dreams they talk and do things he knows he should remember. But it's like listening to chatter in another room, muffled by walls. Sometimes he can hear them; a word or two is clear enough to make out but most of the time it's lost. It's hard to focus on them, it makes his head ache, he tries anyway. Tries until he's blinded with pain and wants to throw up.

He thinks he's in a hospital. Maybe a prison. He knows he did something bad, but he doesn't want to remember.

_He made me! I didn't want to!_

_Try not to move._

Billy starts to understand that things are strange. He can smell everyone of the people around him like they're wafting their armpits in his face. He can tell who is in the room just by the scent they bring with them. He wonders what drugs they have him on.

The doctors, if that's what they are, around him shine lights into his eyes, and smile at him when he manages to finally, _finally_ twitch his fingers. Slowly the tube in his throat is removed and he is allowed to breathe by himself.

It still fucking hurts. Every rise and fall of his chest is agony. Sometimes the breath gets caught on something inside him and makes him cough. The spasms radiate pain throughout his whole chest until he's got tears in his eyes.

He figures he probably deserves it. He's done something shitty. It tickles at the back of his mind, but he wont look, wont open that box.

One of the doctors comes to see him more often than the others. Talks to him more, smiles at him more. He's never deterred when Billy doesn't respond. He smells like café food mixed with starch and disinfectant. Billy begins to look forward to seeing him, having someone just... treating him like he's human.

The man points to himself over and over, repeating the same word. Billy struggles to pay attention, to make his ears work. After a few visits, Billy finally hears it.

“Owens.”

He wants to cry. His fingers twitch and he tries to show he understands. The tears in his eyes must do it because Owens smiles at him and places a hand gently over his own, trying to still him.

“Billy.” Owens says, squeezing his hand. “Billy.”

Billy feels his lips, dry and sore form the word. He can't put voice behind it, so he breathes it instead. His eyes stream and blur with tears.

Owens looks pleased and sympathetic. He holds Billy's hand the whole time he's in the room.

On bad days Billy gets overcome by rage. Tries to tear out the tubes and hit the people who come too close. He can't, can barely lift his arms, but he tries anyway.

He's not right. He knows he's not right, but he doesn't know why. There's black veins like evil worms under his skin. His nails are sharp and large on his fingers. So he screams and screams until they force him to sleep with a needle in his arm.

On good days Doctor Owens sits with him, talks to him and smiles. He shows Billy pictures of things he knows Billy likes – cars and basket ball, asks him about positions, makes and models. He calls Billy by his name. He's patient and kind, nodding when Billy's voice comes above a whisper to repeat the words back to him. Once or twice he's snuck Billy in a walk-man, let him listen to music. Most of it's shitty, but Billy doesn't have the energy to set him straight. At the moment, anything is better than nothing.

Another doctor comes to test him sometimes. His name is Briggs, and Billy wants to strangle him.

He's a big, mean looking sonofabitch. Portly and meaty, soft around the middle and greying at the temples. He always has a sheen of sweat on his brow and upper lip like he's been jerking off in a bathroom before visiting. Billy wouldn't put it passed him. He stinks of sweat, has a sour milk kind of vibe to him that wont be hidden under the cheap aftershave he has plastered on his neck.

“Apple.” Briggs says, holding up a flash card that Billy is pretty sure is meant for a pre-schooler with its bright red fruit and the word written underneath in a too-big-font.

It's confusing at the best of times trying to connect smells and sounds and meanings to pictures. Sometimes he's too angry to try, the frustration builds up and up until his head is pounding. Sometimes he thinks they're all just taking the piss. An _apple_ for fucks sake.

“Fuck you.” Billy croaks, trying to push the picture away with weak hands.

“ _Apple._ ” Briggs repeats firmly, shoving it back into Billy's face.

Billy takes in a deep breath.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

Briggs _accidentally_ jolts Billy's ribs with an elbow. Billy tries not to scream, but he can't help the way the tears well up in his eyes out of sheer agony. He hides it by launching into a tirade of cursing and spitting until Briggs has to sedate him.

Owens is always disappointed when Billy gets angry. Billy can't help it. Briggs is a dick-bag.

It doesn't help Billy's mood that his body is wrong – doesn't work the way he knows it should. It's not strong; he remembers being strong. They've been feeding him through a tube until he remembers that's wrong too. The moment he manages to lift his arms high enough, he pulls it out of his throat and vomits all over his bedding.

Doctor Owens lets him eat by himself after that. Gives him meat, red and wet and warm to sink his teeth into; feeds it to him like he's a goddam child and _here comes the airplane_ until Billy has the strength to hold the fork up by himself.

Still, its nice to talk without the tube. His speech gets easier. He can say a full sentence without coughing and wheezing. Billy has no fucking idea how long it's been since he woke up. Doesn't care. All he knows is he is getting stronger even if it's slow and painful.

“You're doing really well, Billy-boy.” Owens smiles, proud. It brings a weird satisfaction to Billy to hear it. It's juvenile but it makes him feel good to have that bit of praise.

“You going to give me a gold star. Doc?” Billy croaks. It comes out without winding him at least.

“I might, if it gets you to work with Briggs.” He flashes his teeth in amusement as Billy scowls. “Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in surrender, he knows better to push. They might be somewhat friendly, but Billy wont take shit from anyone.

Instead, he continues to help Billy eat if his arm gets tired, but mostly he just watches, making sure it all goes down. He brings Billy fucking _steak_. It's always fresh and still bloody – practically still mooing. The smell of the blood in the meat is intoxicating; it makes his mouth water like nothing else. He might have been worried about that in a past life. Now it's whatever.

Briggs just hands him slabs of freeze dried bullshit. It doesn't even have the decency to be recognizable as any particular animal. It's just a patty. Probably made of raccoon ass and fish heads. Certainly smells like it. There's not a drop of blood in sight; it's always cold and kind of congealed in it's own fatty jelly.

If it were Owens, Billy may have eaten it. But it's Briggs. Something in Billy just rises to the challenge of pushing against authority when he's around.

_Nobody tells me what to do._

His next meal is one of those times.

Briggs sits down next to him with the plastic tray and a challenge in his steely brown eyes. His meaty hands get the fork nice and loaded with the stringy mass of raw meat.

Billy snarls at him and refuses to open his mouth. So Briggs takes the tray and casually turns it over, dropping the patty on the floor. He stares at Billy as he leans down and scoops it back onto the tray before shoving it back under Billy's nose.

“Eat it or I'll get the tube back in your neck.” His eyes glitter darkly.

Billy maintains eye contact and takes a large bite out of the patty. He chews slowly, making sure it's pure mush in his mouth before he spits it into Briggs' face.

Briggs wipes his face clean on Billy's sheets and glares.

Billy smiles.

Briggs doesn't show up with food again for a meal or two. Billy's chomping at the bit kind of hungry, but he doesn't get the tube. It's worth it.

Owens is the only one to bring him meals after that.

Time goes on, and Billy ignores it. He listens to the memories in his head at night, but not all of them. Just the ones he knows are safe. The ones that don't make him scream and cry and wish for the mother he knows he doesn't have.

The faces in his memories grow into personalities. He has names for them now. He remembers Maxine, Susan. His father, Neil. He remembers California and they day the light went out in his life. He remembers being an asshole but his dad being an even bigger one.

He never asks Owens if they're okay or where they are. Owens never brings it up.

He never asks Owens a lot of things. Like where he is or for how long, or what happened. He doesn't even look at his own body when they change his hospital gown. Doesn't ask why they shave his head. He doesn't want to remember what he did before now.

_I'm sorry._

The agony in Billy's chest still thrums in time with his pulse. He used to move a lot. Used to run and jump and fight. He has sparks of memories of lifting weights, swimming and fucking. It had felt good to do all of that. Got him out of the dangerous parts of his head.

Now... now he's weak and helpless. Monsters lurk in the shadows of his mind.

He fucking hates it. He pulls out all his tubes and wires in a fit of pique and tries and _tries_ to get up – to move. Then he tries to fight when the doctors rush in to tie him back down. So he screams again, gets angry and bites and thrashes until Owens comes to calm him. Until Owens tells him they will help him get strong again.

They give him time every day to re-learn how to move. He's always in pain, even more so when he tries to get going. He tries and tries and tries to get up again anyway.

When he can stand and walk by himself, Owens tells him they are going to move him to a bigger space so he can get stronger. But he has to be good.

Billy smiles at the news; it's all teeth, sharp and jagged where they were once flat and square. It's the smile that keeps all the other doctors out of arms reach. He can be _so good._

It happens sooner than Billy expects. Owens comes into his room with Briggs and a few other nameless faces.

Billy can tell Briggs just wants to stick him with the needle he's preparing and have it done. But Owens being present makes him less of a cunt.

“Heya, Billy-boy.” Owens smiles warmly, approaching Billy like they're old friends. As far as Billy knows they are probably, it's had to be more than a year at this point. “Today's the big day!”

“You got me a pony?” Billy sits up slowly, feeling his bones protest and ignoring the pain that makes his breath hitch.

“You never know, it could be on tomorrows menu!” Owens chuckles and takes a seat beside him. “There's a shiny new room for you waiting on the other side of that needle. Just came from seeing it myself. There's a weight bench! I might need to hire you as a personal trainer in the future.”

“What're you on about, you're all muscle.” Billy smirks eyeing Owens' soft and plump belly. “You going to hold my hand all the way there?”  
  
Owens doesn't even miss a beat.

“Afraid not, I've come to see you off. Briggs will be with you, though, he'll keep you comfortable.”

Billy's eyes narrow. He wont look at Briggs. Doesn't even blink when the needle goes into his arm.

“Better bring me that pony, Doc.” He mumbles as the world starts to go fuzzy at the edges.

When he wakes up he's somewhere else. All around him is the smell of blood and meat, metal and disinfectant. The room is larger, colder. One of the walls is all see-through panels that show a little observation room behind it.

He has a bed that isn't a metal box, and puzzles and books in a small bookcase beside it. There is a desk and weight bench. The weights are nothing near the size he used to lift but it's a start. There's a camera in the corner opposite his bed and underneath that a speaker phone.

He can eat as much as he wants, all he has to do is push a button and meat slides in from a slot by the door. Briggs-free delivery.

He's so fucking hungry he can eat a whole cows worth in a day, but it's never warm or bleeding when they give it to him. It pisses him off because they wont let Owens feed him what he wants any more.

But Billy is patient.

With the food comes strength. And Billy's getting strong fast. Stronger than he used to be. He knows this because they test him. They get him to lift and pull or push things. But Billy always holds a little bit back. Keeps a a bit of himself secret.

He remembers secrets. He remembers how to hide the pain until he's tricked himself into believing it's no longer there.

He does this because his memories tell him that there is a lot outside that he still wants.

Very soon, he will be strong enough to have.


End file.
